During my first year I had the exciting and doubtful privilege of being present at a native sectional or stone fight, an experience which few covet even once--and which the wise and informed, at least of womankind, invariably forego. Once a year at a certain season, where two neighborhoods or sections have grievances against each other, they settle them by one of these fights. They choose captains, arrange the opposing parties, and begin firing stones and tiles at each other. As one crowd or the other is by turns victorious, and the pursued flee before their enemies, and as those who are at one moment triumphant are often the very next the vanquished, hotly chased, it is almost impossible to find any safe point of vantage from which to view the conflict. At any instant the place one has chosen, as well removed and safe, may become the ground of the hottest battle. Very large stones are often thrown, and people are fatally injured, though not as frequently as one would think. It is a wonder that hundreds are not killed or wounded. In going from my home to visit a friend one day, a few weeks after my arrival, I was obliged to pass a large crowd of men, who seemed divided into two parties, and were very noisy and vociferous. I remarked upon this to my friend, and sending to inquire, we found it was the preliminaries of a stone fight which I had witnessed. Her husband said it would not be safe for me to return alone, and therefore to my lasting gratitude offered to see me through it. We soon found that the stones and missiles were coming our way, and were forced to run for shelter to a Korean house. For a few moments the fight was hot around us, and then as it seemed to have passed on--quite far down the street--we ventured forth, only to find that the tide had again turned, and the whole mob were tearing in our direction. Mr. Bunker, for it was he, said there was nothing for it but to scale a half-broken wall into an adjacent compound, and run for it to the house of Mr. Gilmore, not far distant. So, reckless of my best gown, I scaled the wall with great alacrity, and we ran for it quite shamelessly. Missiles of considerable size were raining around us, and the possibility, or rather probability, that one would soon light on our heads, accelerated our speed to no small degree. These affairs are often funny in retrospect, but smack strongly of the tragic at the time, while the outcome is so decidedly uncertain. However, by much dodging and circling, frequently sheltering ourselves under the wall, we at length reached Mr. Gilmore’s house, when, in a somewhat ruffled and perturbed condition, I waited till the coast was quite clear and found my way home, a wiser and deeply thoughtful woman.